“Yeah, I can tell . . . ”
Arnaud was truly led by his sexual needs and when he kissed me he completely lost his bearings. I was no longer so sure I wanted him in my room. Although many women appreciated pain with their lovemaking, I wasn’t a fan. Or maybe my lack of elation toward his personality ruined the rest? To make sure, I kissed him again.
“You see! No more biting!” he said slyly.
“Hm, true,” I admitted.
Now that there was no more reason for me to revise my decision, we made our way to the hotel. My doubts had subsided and just as they were close to having completely disappeared, Arnaud pushed me against the wall of some factory, next to a dark alley.
“Ah! Scarlett! I want you! Now! Like an animal!” he said, biting my ear this time.
“Come on, Arnaud! There are people passing by. We’ll be at the hotel in ten minutes, calm down!” I begged, pushing him away.
“Grrr! You’re so hot, Scarlett! Show me your boobs!” he commanded.
The stallion in him was about to jump on his mare. I could feel him very hard against my thigh. He was pretty much dry-humping it and looked like he would come at any moment. I didn’t understand his reaction. Here I was thinking that having some experience would provide a minimum of self-control, but his urges were taking over. Damn! I wasn’t dealing with a womanizer, I was dealing with a sex maniac. ARNAUD THE PERVERT! No way should that animal come have a mating session in my room. I pushed him violently.
“Arnaud! That’s enough! I don’t want this anymore!” I screamed.
“Come on, you’ve been begging for this.”
“I said I don’t feel like it anymore.”
“Are you serious?” he asked, finally stopping.
“Yes!”
“I can’t believe it! You’re just a tease,” he said spitefully.
“I don’t care! I don’t want this anymore!”
I moved away from him, toward the main road.
How could the situation have turned against me? I had been full of good intentions all night, but I wasn’t going to let myself get ridden by a horse against my own will. After about a minute of walking, I turned around to see if Arnaud was following me. He wasn’t very far behind. Still interested in reaching his goal, he quickly apologized.
“Sorry, Scarlett! I thought you were enjoying it!” he yelled from behind.
I didn’t say a word.
“Come on, baby! Just a quickie!” he yelled louder.
I kept silent.
“Ah, fucking cock-teaser!” he howled at the top of his lungs.
I turned around, flashed a triumphing smile, and entered the hotel, convinced I had made the right decision.
Chapter 13
Orlando (MCO), Florida – Christmas Day
To help clear my mind, I had decided to put a hold on the Extreme Flirt Game for the holiday season. After my failed encounter with Arnaud, I had asked Becky and Rupert to not play matchmakers for a while, as I needed to get over my emotions. I shouldn’t despair. Surely, somewhere in this world, there was someone for me. I was still determined to play my little game, but needed a short pause. I had decided to start it again in January. Had I known that bad encounters were going to continue, though, I would have forgotten about that stupid commitment right away.
It was my seventh consecutive day of flying since December nineteenth and I unfortunately couldn’t make it to my parents’ house for Christmas. My mother was pretty sad and so was I. However, I knew that getting reasonable days off during the holiday period was pretty much impossible, having still so little seniority. Before my flight, the morning of December twenty-fifth, I called her.
“Merry Christmas, Mom!”
“Scarlett! Merry Christmas to you too! Your father and I would have really liked you to be here. The whole family is coming! You’re the only one missing.”
“Yes, I know. I would have liked to be there too.”
“You could call in sick, you know!” she suggested with authority.
“No, Mom, you know I don’t like doing that.”
“Not even for your family?”
“Mom! I didn’t call you so that you could make me feel guilty for being responsible. I’m already exhausted and haven’t made it to the airport yet. Please!” I answered, growing annoyed at the conversation.
“Ah! Sorry, kiddo. Where are you flying today, then?”
“Hm . . . I don’t know. I didn’t look at the destination, only the flight number.”
“Well, I hope you have a good flight. Merry Christmas again! I love you,” she said, full of kindness.
“Merry Christmas,” I said, having already forgiven her, and hung up.
I couldn’t blame her for being so directional. She wanted me close to her. How could I blame her? Mom had me curious, though. I searched through my handbag and unfolded my flight itinerary. For a few months now, I had been developing the bad habit of examining the names of the captains before each flight, hoping to see the name of the one I was so obsessed with appear. Not today, I thought, not seeing his name and having forgotten to even look at where I was flying to. Once in the car, I finally looked at the destination code written next to the flight number: MCO. And all of a sudden, I realized the mess I was in: Orlando, on Christmas day! Help!
◆◆◆
There are many amusement parks around the world. One of the most famous, Disney World, is located close to the city of Orlando, in Florida. It’s an enormous entertainment complex where we can meet all of the fictional characters from our younger years such as Mickey Mouse, Cinderella, and Sleeping Beauty. Disney World attracts everybody, including me. This makes Orlando the official dream destination for families and, more specifically, children.
I love Walt Disney and I’m even crazy about Minnie and Mickey. I’m not concerned about them, though. What worries me is the ride to Orlando. On the aircraft. In the air. On the ground. At deplaning. Everywhere! Operating a flight to Orlando is just like already being at Disney. It’s seeing kids run around, scream, throw toys at their parents’ faces; it’s telling them off so they put their seatbelts on; it’s constantly smiling because we obviously can’t be rude to children. It’s all of that at once, and more. As flight attendants, we must have lots of energy saved up, which, on this beautiful Christmas day, I seemed to be missing.
Nevertheless, I tried to remain positive. Maybe they would all be exhausted from the excitement, on their best behavior and happy to soon be meeting Pinocchio and Geppetto? I parked my car, grabbed my carry-on, breathed deeply, and headed for the airport.
Once past the security checks, I quickly went to one of the few coffee shops in the domestic terminal. I urgently needed a little pick-me-up. A double espresso latte should do the trick. Then I headed for the aircraft.
I got to the waiting area and walked decisively, aiming straight for the departure gate. Normally, I would rarely pay attention to the passengers seated in that area. I would simply board the aircraft, knowing I would see them all for hours on our flight anyway. However, that day, I discreetly glanced at the scene around me before setting foot on the bridge. And then I saw them. They were running around yelling, crying. Why weren’t they sleeping? I was terrified. Scarlett, they’re just kids. They won’t hurt you, I thought.
Of course, I wasn’t going to get killed or tortured by kids. They weren’t life-threatening. What was going to get me, though, was everything else Orlando implied: spoiled children, impatient parents, endless requests. If we mixed all these ingredients together and released them into a short time-lapse, we ended up with a trailer suited for any action movie. Speaking of time, Orlando was a touch and go. Quickly touch down then go again, on two different runways. I would have time to fasten my seatbelt, unfasten it, drink a glass of water, run around the cabin, and sit back down for landing. I needed to calm down.
After the captain’s briefing and the pre-flight checks, all flight attendants went to their respective positions, ready for boarding. Passengers s
tarted to come on board. I couldn’t spot any baby in my section, which made me pretty happy. At least I won’t have to give my speech on baby safety, I thought. We were off to a good start!
Boarding was going at a snail’s pace. What was going on? I made my way to the middle of the aircraft to investigate. Ah! I could now see the problem. Children were walking down the aisle in front of their parents! How could a two-year-old make proper progress by pulling a mini Spider-Man suitcase down a narrow corridor while stopping at every row? It was impossible!
I approached the first child. I looked at his mother standing behind him and asked for her boarding pass so that I could help them to their seats as quickly as possible.
“May I see your boarding pass, ma’am? What is your seat number?” I asked.
She searched through the pocket of her jacket and handed me her ticket.
“Thirty-two D! It’s toward the back. Follow me!” I said, internally exasperated.
Knowing that the kid would take ages to walk the long distance to the back, I lowered myself down to his level and gently asked if he could let me carry his mini-suitcase, which, according to me, was just as cumbersome as useless. Unfortunately, he didn’t have much choice as I grabbed the suitcase as I asked for his permission. He looked at me with his big beautiful eyes and didn’t flinch. Perfect, one step closer! I thought. Then, adopting a soft and friendly voice, I told him to follow me.
“Follow me, honey!” I ordered.
I turned around and positioned myself closer to the back of the aircraft. A few rows down, I turned back around. I looked at the kid. He was still a fair distance away. His family was following, still behind him, and so was a group of passengers, eager to reach their own seats. I crouched down, still holding on to his tiny Spider-Man luggage. With my knees bent, I clapped my hands on my thighs a couple times, encouraging him to continue coming my way. I felt like a crazy person calling out a dog to come running down the aisle of an airplane.
“Come on, sweetheart! Just a little bit more!” I urged him on.
He then stopped looking around and started off in my direction again. We’re gonna make it! I thought. His mother was also encouraging him from behind.
“Go on, son! Go see the lady over there. Yes, that’s it. A little further, my love,” she hummed from her end.
Oh! I felt the strong urge to roll my eyes but held back. Why didn’t she simply pick up her child and sit in her seat as quickly as possible? I wondered. I was still internally grumpy as she kept on encouraging her honorable son, determined to show him how to meander down the aisle of an airplane.
Trapped, I had no choice but to continue my little choreography. I went on. Side-steps forward for five rows, then STOP! A half pirouette and HOP!
“This way, sweetheart! A little bit more,” I said again.
I continued. Side-steps forward for five rows and STOP! Half pirouette and HOP!
“Almost there!”
I had almost succeeded. Side-steps forward for five rows and STOP! Half pirouette and HOP!
“There we (finally) are!” I declared, relieved.
The mother settled in her seat. The father and the child did the same. I then gave the Spider-Man suitcase back and returned to my quarters at the back of the aircraft. The other passengers were finally moving along and my colleagues took over. I remained posted at the back for the rest of boarding, keeping a watchful eye on the cabin.
Shortly after, we were able to close the door. It was even surprising how quickly the kids had nicely taken their seats. Still, I could very well hear their piercing voices resonate from one end of the cabin to the other. Everything will be all right, Scarlett. There’s nothing shorter than a return trip to Orlando, I encouraged myself.
◆◆◆
We were on the runway and had just completed the last cabin check. Seats were upright. Headphones were removed. Bags were put away under the seats. Seatbelts were fastened. I could now sit on my jump seat, ready for takeoff.
Next to me, there was another flight attendant sitting on her jump seat. Her name was Debbie. I had never met her before. She was a pretty woman, most likely in her mid-thirties, and seemed as quiet as a mouse. Her tone was soft, vulnerable, and soothing. She seemed discreet and benevolent, which pushed me to confide in her my current worries.
“I’ve never operated a flight to Orlando on Christmas Day. I wasn’t expecting so many kids. I hope it’ll go well.”
“What do you mean?” she asked, unsure of how to read into my statement.
“With such a short flight, we normally don’t have a lot of time to serve the passengers. And now, with all those kids . . . service might be twice as long if we’re dealing with spoiled children,” I explained.
“Ha! Ha!” she laughed. “You mean, if the parents allow their children to be spoiled, it’ll take us an eternity to serve them?”
“Yeah, exactly!” I confirmed. “I hate waiting in the aisle like a fool while moms go through the whole menu with their little princes and princesses!” I added, amused.
Debbie seemed to share my opinion. Since my remarks appeared to perk her up, I got more off my chest.
“While we push our cart down one row at a time, parents could at least try to start thinking about what their kids will drink instead of waiting until the last minute. It’s the same story every time. I ask them what they’d like and then the mother turns toward her kid and lists all the options. It drives me insane!” I confided.
My colleague, amused, developed further.
“True! She’ll lean toward her son and suggest milk, apple juice, orange juice, water! And then, the poor little soul doesn’t know. He hesitates. He looks at us, then at his mother and does . . . ”
“Eeeeeuuuuuuhhhhh!” I pursued, laughing.
“Ha! Ha! Ha! Why not have coffee while we’re at it!” she exclaimed.
We were laughing away for a few minutes and then suddenly, the announcement for takeoff came on.
“In preparation for takeoff, flight attendants to your jump seats,” declared the captain.
The engines started humming. A loud noise traveled across the cabin. The aircraft was vibrating lightly, as if preparing to explode. I bent my head down, chin in toward my chest, and placed both hands on my knees. Prepared for takeoff, I was ready to get back home as quickly as possible.
The intensity of the muffled sound outside increased and we abruptly started moving forward. The scenery outside was passing before my eyes, little by little. We were speeding up. My body remained stiff, in case a rejected takeoff (RTO) happened. The horizon now appeared as a rectilinear green line, as if one of the kids on board had drawn it with a crayon. And then, quickly, within a millisecond, we were flying. What a great feeling! I thought, before hearing all the children scream with joy. This Christmas Day might not be so bad after all!
As soon as we were on our ascent, we continued our conversation.
“So, you must not have any children of your own, if you’re that scared of them?” she asked me.
“No, not yet. But I’d love to one day. Maybe a few of them. When they’re your kids, it’s different,” I answered. “And you, do you have any?”
“Yes, two,” she said, her eyes glimmering.
“How old are they?”
“My oldest is seven and my youngest is five. We would have liked to have more, but after two miscarriages, we got our head around the idea of having just two. My sons are adorable. I love them so much and really try my best not to raise them as spoiled children, like you say,” she confided.
“You won’t be with them for Christmas. What a shame,” I said with compassion.
“Well, I was there yesterday. And anyway, we won’t get home too late tonight. Their father is looking after them. It’s best I’m not there, I think.”
Strange . . . how could she think that not being with her husband and kids on Christmas day was the better situation? I wanted to know more. She had brought it up, after all. Maybe she felt like opening up t
o someone.
“Why would you say that? Is your relationship okay?”
I suspected that her disappointment was a romantic one. Without any hesitation, she offered more explanation.
“My husband and I have been drifting apart for a while. It’s as if we forgot about each other when we had our second child. And then we tried to conceive more and I had two miscarriages. I feel as though it affected our relationship. Maybe that’s why we’re feeling so distant now. I miss him but I don’t know how to tell him. Sometimes I don’t even know if I want to make it work, and he doesn’t either, actually.”
“I see,” I said respectfully. “Do you still love him?” I asked.
“Yes, I love him. I just think that we’re different now and I don’t know if we can find each other again.”
“Well, if you love him, you have to work on your relationship. You can’t give up. You have children with him, that’s a good enough reason. Talk to him,” I advised.
I didn’t really know what more to say. My experience in marital help was limited. I suggested she be honest with her husband and admit her concerns. It was the best thing she could do.
“We’ll see. At least we look after the kids very well. I prefer to let things happen for now,” she said, discouraged.
Suddenly, the seatbelt sign was switched off. It was time to get to work, as it was a very short flight. With a mere two hours and fifty-five minute flight time, we might not even be able to eat our own meals and would have to do so once on the ground. I got up and got at it, forgetting about Debbie’s confidences.
◆◆◆
The first part of the flight went relatively well. As soon as the seatbelt sign had been turned off, we had gotten up and swiftly started the passenger service.
I was working with a flight attendant named Todd. He was straight and very good-looking. There’s no chance that guy is gay, I had thought. He had beautiful green eyes that made you weak in the knees. He was full of charisma and gallantry, which was, of course, much appreciated on an airplane.
Call Me Stewardess Page 13